Hurley

A black fluff ball is next to me pulling stuffed animals out of my neatly organized "to donate" bags, he's attacking them with surprising gusto, his name is Hurley.  Both Kirk and I grew up never EVER having a dog, and me...well I never even had a pet, except one day on a trip I found a frog, named him Mork and seven hours later he jumped out of my shoebox and got ran over by a car and that was the extent of my pet owning.  So when our kids bring up getting a dog, we both twitch.  We liked the idea of the "lessons" a pet will teach a child...that whole "I promise to walk it, feed it, pick up the poop, for three entire whole weeks until I no longer promise to do any of it and we fight for the rest of our lives over the promises once made and there are tears and not always from the child moments...those responsibilities.

We have a daughter who has a very tender heart for animals, it is something Kirk and I absolutely don't relate with.  In fact, when we were adopting Zac, our adoption agency flagged us because they didn't think we were sympathetic to animals...and reality is...we aren't! HA! Praise God we convinced them we ARE sympathetic to children because they decided to let us have Zac.  Watching McKenzie with animals, we kind of had an inkling a pet would be good for her, but we stuck our fingers in our ears and closed our eyes and said "I DON'T HEAR THAT THOUGHT, BLAH BLAH BLAH" for a few years.

And then we lost our little girl.  And I realize that sentence makes no sense to most of you because it is a story that hasn't been told here and will remain that way because it isn't mine to expose.

When you gain a child and lose another all within one year, things change.  You poor every dime you own into any gimmick out there in order to find your child again, you drink whatever potion is handed to you, you buy every essential oil plastered on Facebook, you get a second job to pay for the therapies that no insurance would begin to understand much less cover.  And you get a pet.  We dragged our kids to several breeders trying like crazy to find a dog our daughter wasn't allergic to.  Turns out she is allergic to dog saliva and no amount of "hypo-allergenic" labeling can turn saliva into hypo allergenic, it is just that....saliva.  So, stopped dragging kids to breeder homes and I got on my knees.  I told the Lord we needed a dog and we needed the right one that will reach my daughter's heart but keep her healthy all at the same time.  We needed a miracle.

I prayed for almost 2 years, and I let our kids know I was praying for a miracle.  When you have a daughter that lived with chronic pneumonia for 2 years, you don't mess around with allergies and just say give her benedryl, it's like lips swell up and lungs fill up and then we beg for breath kind of allergies.  A dog was impossible.  So we bought a hamster, which just creeps me out even still as I stare at it's pink cage right next to me.  And when you hear your daughter whisper in her hamster's ear "I'm forever, I'm going to keep you, I'm forever", you start to cry because you see the therapy working, you see healing and you freaking start begging God to bring a magical dog NOW.

All the therapists and medical specialists told us to "Get that girl a dog NOW".  One even said forget the allergies, just do it.  But he didn't watch her shake in her percussion vest for one year while in isolation.  I lived that with her and I wasn't going to physically lose her while I found her again all at the same time.  So I continued looking to my Savior who cares about the little things like allergies and a dog and a girl.

Over the summer we had the opportunity to dog sit for 6 weeks.  It was our friends' dog who McKenzie reacts a bit to but we thought we'd try it.  It was a gift to be able to test drive having a dog because frankly my life needed NOTHING ELSE TO CARE FOR!  But those 6 weeks were amazing and we saw massive benefits within our entire family...except Carter who just couldn't seem to understand that crazy word "gentle".  So, we began pursuing this certain breed of dog.  We looked all over the United States for one and seriously they were all over $1000 and well that is just hilarious when  you remember we are living on a teacher's salary in the lowest paid state in the USA for teachers and I stay home.  So, I prayed.  Kirk said he could pay $300 for a puppy and that was about it.  My heart sank because I knew that wasn't going to happen...$300 got you a dog from the pound with no papers showing pure bred making it safe for allergies.  And we COULD NOT BUY ONE AND RETURN IT LATER IF IT DIDN'T WORK OUT BECAUSE WE WERE DEALING WITH ATTACHMENT ISSUES, IT NEEDED TO STAY.

So, one night I found puppies on craigslist that were nearby, they were half havanese and half poodle.  Both are hypo allergenic dogs, but both still have saliva ha! The price was $500 and I begged Kirk for us to just go do an allergy test, just for kicks.

When we pulled up to the house I knew immediately the breeders loved the Lord.  The most adorable black little fur balls were scrambling all around my kids and I started begging God to make it work.  We did the lick test and went home and waited and watched for swelling.  Nothing.  We went back for another test and ...nothing.  I started trying to convince Kirk that God had this puppy for our little girl.  NEVER had we found a dog she didn't react to.  But he reminded me of the price and I was just freakin furious to be honest.  That night he called the breeders and they told my husband...are you ready wake up when you read this people because GOD IS SO INCREDIBLY GOOD....."we just feel that your family needs one of our puppies.  We just feel like we need to give you one for $300."  Oh. My. Word.  God...do you see that?? God! He is amazingly real isn't He? He shows up so BIG in our family that I cannot contain it.  Our family lives through a ton of crap, for reals, like nobody else we know lives this way leaving people's jaws dropping kind of crap.  But you know what? We get to see God in extremely real ways, all the time, which is so worth the crap.  
Our daughter held a tiny black puppy on her lap all the way home, promising she would keep him forever.  He is her everything right now.  We got him July 4 and today is September 16 and it is still going strong, and guess what? We are finding her again.  She is coming back and if you knew her story you'd weep with me over this paragraph.

Hurley has added a lot more to my plate, potty training, biting, walking, poop patrol, you name it...he is everything I knew I didn't want.  But he is everything I've prayed for.  He adores my daughter and that makes him so dearly special to us.  And, want to know something even cooler? He is THE ONLY DOG IN THE WORLD my daughter isn't allergic to.  Lick away Hurley, she's yours.  And laying in her bed at night and hearing her pray to God "you brought me the right dog God," she gets it...she knows God cared enough to make the impossible happen just for her, and that folks makes me weep and fall to the floor in a puddle soaking up such Grace and Mercy I don't deserve one ounce of.  How, oh How...did I get to live this life and know THE God in reachable ways....

and oh my...God is good.

Since we last spoke...

Since we've last seen eachother: my husband broke his back and has been unable to work since April, I had two kids get tonsils and adnoids out one of those kids has PTSD due to medical trauma.  One kid has ridden in an ambulance 2 times and slept in ICU too many nights.  Since we've met oxygen resides in our hall closet and O2 monitors rest near a bed with airplanes dancing on the sheets.

 Because it's been a while I thought I'd catch you up with the news my two children started new schools ending a sweet era of daddy being their PE teacher, and with change comes deep disturbances when you battle something called special needs; my red headed climbs two big steps into a little yellow bus three days a week and his prideful grin would get ya everytime.  It's amazing that a magical bus can make school something you look forward to instead of cry over mom leaving every stinking time.  Since we last sipped our coffee and had a good sit down, God has used a little something called EMDR to absolutely rock my world and wipe my brain clean of the trauma that had taken up residence and had gotten overly cozy.  Since then I'm free and loving it.  Let's see, what else? Oh maybe the best news: my kids learned how to make chocolate chip cookies all by themselves after they believed me when I told them it's always best to pour the salt "NOT OVER THE BOWL". 

 We got a puppy because I needed that like I needed somebody to hit me along side the head.  But because of those calloused knees I always talk about, well God seemed to have provided a little black puppy whose name is now Hurley...God found the only puppy in the entire universe that my daughter is NOT allergic to, teaching a pretty significant lesson to my littles about how God cares deeply about the little desires of our heart and the huge hurdles that make them seem impossible.  Hurley has changed a little life in our home, because God knew he would.  
Since we spoke, we cancelled 4 trips due to a broken back, and a son learned how to mow the grass which in turn saved his mother.  Since last, I now have a 4 year old who refuses to say he is four because darnit it took him 365 days to master saying three; I happen to have the most beautiful now nine year old in the world and I get to snuggle with her each night simply because God is good and let me tell you not one night goes by that I don't recognize what a miracle it is to be beside my little girl in her bed...welcomed.  

 I have a 12 year old who wants desperately to be 30 and living in California and knowing all the answers to everything and no longer needs me simply because of something called PRE TEEN.  Since we caught up, football has moved up a level since Jr. High try outs were a success and now we know what 115 degree weather feels like...it feels like commitment and nothing more.  Since my fingers clicked away on these now sticky keys, I've considered this blog and wondered a lot about the whys of it and the what fors of it all.  I've gone back and forth on pulling the plug, wanting to make sure it is Him who gets the glory, it is Him I write for.  And then there has been much contemplation because I don't want to have something to write about, because for some crazy reason my life hurts so bad when I have a topic and I feel like a topic is always on my lips and that aches, a lot.  But then I find myself hearing these little words whisper "But you have something to say." And that's just it, I don't want to be the one saying anything, only Him and that gets so confusing and sometimes I don't need more confusing in my life.  I want to please Him, I want intentions to be pure, a screen can become a god for some and that strokes the writer and then it can become out of hand.  I don't ever want that, so sometimes it's easier to say DONE.  Decisions on that topic haven't been made, I just knew I couldn't end a blog on my last post, that couldn't have the final say.  Since May, pneumonia reared it's ugly head twice but this time it was in my red headed child and pneumonia is a trigger for haunting moments when I begged my daughter to breathe in and out in and out in and out.  I've learned PICU is an ugly beautiful floor full of miracles and devastation and I walked away from that floor with his tiny hands in mine and I promised him to never ever forget how fleeting it is, and now I sit on the floor a lot more and vacuum a lot less.
We had to say goodbye to swimming because a little guy insists he is big and gulps too much water in the process leaving him aspirating and getting the "P" word too easily.  It was a bummer of a lesson to learn.  Since our last visit, we had a 100 year storm in Arizona, leaving us on national news and flooded with schools declaring "closed".  I watched chunky legs chase after a black puppy while water and mud mixed to create the perfect recipe for memories being made.   It's been a long time hasn't it? It's been hard hard hard, normal, healing, and plain old amazingly good all wrapped up into 4 months of silent fingers.

Motherhood...it's not what I imagined.

Since the first whiff of baby powder as a little girl, I knew. ABSOLUTELY knew.  I wanted to be a mom.  And out of all the professions or careers in the entire book of things you can do with your life, I knew, if given the chance, I'd be an amazing mom.  When I taught 4th grade I questioned my abilities almost every stinking night, when I taught piano lessons I rolled my eyes at how awful I must be at it, when I book a photography session I flood myself with thoughts that I'm not good enough, when I led women's group I tried so hard to allow God to lead and me to step out of the way and let it be about Him and then I'd spend all my time debriefing to determine if I had gotten in the way which in a comical sense makes it all about me again.  But motherhood? I've not questioned my abilities once.  I'll say it out loud, I'm good at being a mom, it fits me well, but it isn't what I imagined it would be.

When I begged God to allow me to be called Mom, I had "Soccer Mom" bumper sticker on my mini van in mind, I imagined a clean home and dinner on the table, I mentally packed little lunch boxes and folded tiny Elmo undies.  I dreamt of rocking moments, prom dress shopping, wedding planning, whispers at midnight, pouring over parenting books and begging God that I get it right.  I knew it wasn't going to be easy and I wasn't naive enough to think it would be smooth sailing, I knew I was signing up for the hardest job in the world, one not everyone could do well.  Reality is, I signed up for a very different picture, filled with endless battles that I had no idea existed for a mom.

When I stared into the eyes of that swaddled baby as we rocked back and forth, as I prayed intensely for them, I dreamed a different picture from what my reality today looks like.  It's okay, I've learned to let my pictures burn over time, but still...motherhood is different.

I didn't know it would be 5 therapies a week times 3 children equaling the stunning number of 15.  I had no idea there were terms that existed for when a child cowers at your love, when your love makes their heart so unsafe that they want to devour you, I had know idea I'd find myself diagnosed with PTSD due to the trauma of fighting to save the one your heart beats for.  When I stared at my swaddled bundle I didn't realize I'd be finding day programs for my child to attend, so he can be loaded into a yellow bus, the small kind that we all know about, and be brought to little outings where people just kind of stare.  I had no idea I was going to have to provide for my children longer than their college days, didn't know how much group homes were going to cost me, how hard I'd have to work to financially support my children long after my husband retires and long after we are in the grave...I was naive to that life.  When I though about their first steps I had know idea the amount of sweat and effort and calloused knees I'd invest in order to watch them take a first step, a first bite, a first word, a pedal of a bike, a swallow of medicine, a returned hug.  I didn't bank on the feelings that would flood me when handed a picture with the words "I love you" after I had been left spinning when hatred and anger had slapped me in the face minutes prior.  My heart wasn't conditioned for this motherhood, there was no preparing me.  When I begged God, pleaded that if it could at all be in His will for me to be known as mom...well I didn't realize know how incredible the pain would be at loving someone who refuses love, at begging God to allow me to keep one, at sitting across from specialists and being handed another label.  I didn't know I was begging to trade therapy times for play dates, hippo therapy instead of mcdonalds playlands, isolation to gain health instead of bible studies and coffee.  I had no idea IEP meetings would become my norm and I didn't want to know conflict as I learned to fight for my children's rights or drive hours a week to counseling, or push my child to change their story through therapies;  when all I really wanted to do is watch their ballet recital or bring oranges to the soccer game.

I didn't realize that at the end of the day, I'd want to sit and stare at a wall, grieve the fact that my future most likely doesn't hold prom dress shopping, and Christmas at Grandma's house.  There has been a lot of mourning over my past 11 years, too much.  My brain has been conditioned to wake up and flinch each morning waiting for the next shoe to drop, past history has shown a pattern and I had no idea I'd be living this ritualistic rut called trauma.  I had no idea that PTSD could rob a person of happiness and motivation to live well, I had no idea motherhood would bring me to this state when I asked, pleaded to be called mom.

I had no idea living motherhood could rock  me to my core, play intense tug of war with my marriage, allow me to see satan face to face on almost a daily basis.  I never knew motherhood would make me long for heaven where the first place I'd run is to my Savior's lap and I'd say with chin quivering "did you see that daddy?" And he'd whisper "I was watching."

It is everything I never wanted if we were going to be honest but in the exact same sentence it was everything I ever wanted, just not everything I dreamt it would be.  It stings, it robs me of breath, it aggravates, and it is debilitating, this motherhood.

Motherhood has brought me to a wilderness, where I stay, where I reside.  I've wondered if I'll ever get out of the wilderness and the control freak in me sometimes just needs to know; but God has me there for a reason, and as maddening as that is almost always, when I begged and pleaded to know motherhood He took my hand and gently walked me into the wilderness.  And because of motherhood, I've known what it is to sit at the Savior's feet and hold up my children and say "Your's", motherhood has allowed me to crumble and break until all that is left is a Savior kneeling down and picking me up and rocking me back and forth whispering promises of some days in my ear.  Motherhood has given me the sweet gift of the agony of suffering because we live in a fallen world and it has allowed me to see Christ show up so clearly and it has ushered me into the front row of His masterpiece in the making.        Walking motherhood has opened my eyes to how wretching it is fight for someone who won't let you in...the picture of me and my Savior so often.  Motherhood defines perseverance and gains perspective and savors moments that are normal for others but never ever taken for granted to me.  Motherhood has left forever calloused knees, the way they should be, showing my weakness and recognizing His strength, declaring it is He who can and does and will do.  It is through motherhood that I've learned what offering a broken hallelujah is.  And it is because of motherhood that I have learned a fight that dwells so deeply in me leaving me on the prowl with a love so fierce and a commitment so rooted to do everything in my power to pursue my children to work until I bleed for them to never.ever.stop.  Motherhood has changed me, rattled me, crumbled me, devastated me, broken me.

Yet, motherhood is the sweetest gift ever handed to me.

I get to stare at sleeping beings and smile at the good of each day, I get to tickle toes and rub noses, and get to be the magic maker when bubbles appear during bath time, I get to live miracles when she reads to me when I thought reading would perhaps come as a bonus someday, I get to be my kids biggest and loudest cheerleader when the little things become miracles, I get to simplify our life bringing it down to what is really important and then seeking to accomplish those simple importances each day, I get to lay in bed snuggling my hurting and quietly take in the breathing as the body falls limp to sleep and I enter the privedlege of praying Jesus in and Jesus out with each inhale and exhale whispering the sweet lessons I ache to say during the awake moments.  And I get to petition to our Father on their behalf, and I get to go to bed at night with aching feet and throbbing heart and know that I am right where I've begged God to be, in His plan which maybe doesn't FEEL peaceful and steady, but IS peaceful and exactly where I want to be in this journey called Motherhood.

Peppermint

 This was me Christmas morning, holding our new Christmas hamster before he actually "screamed" and jumped out of my hands sending the family into a flurry of crazy.  Who knew Hamsters could scream? I suppose he got one look at the family who was to be his permanent residency and he just about freaked.

We knew we needed some kind of animal (besides our good for nothing tortoise who just hangs onto life each day praying to have lettuce thrown his way occasionally) for therapeutic purposes.  A dog was out due to stinking allergies, so a hamster was in.  I'm not an animal person, especially one that spends his cushy life under the rodent label, but when you overhear your child whispering into the hamster's ear that they will never leave them and that they will be theirs forever...well then healing happens and darnit, the hamster is needed for some larger reason.

So, yes it has escaped, yes we've spent an hour trying to get it to crawl out from our couch, and yes little hands have squeezed it too tight and the good Lord has revived it plenty of times...his job is not done yet apparently.  Peppermint is his name, any animal making his presence known on Christmas morning shall hold the title Peppermint I suppose.  He is kind of cute and I pretend just fabulously that I care about it, and I clean that stinking cage occasionally too.  Because all the talk and determination in the world by an 8 year old who promises to clean it...well it just doesn't work. ever.  No child can clean a rodent's den like an adult can, period.

Anyways, since wearing my badge called mom, I've been known to have vicious, ugly dreams about me not being able to save my children.  And when we are in a rough cycle, when life is pretty unpredictable and I'm fighting like mad to help one of my children make it through....then the dreams come...those desperate attempts to save, leaving me awake, and gasping to breath, trying to save, but unable.  Well, in the past two weeks I've dreamt three times of this stinking Peppermint.  I've swam deep into the waters of a public pool to save him only to have him escape my wet hands and run into on coming traffic and become, well, road kill.  I've jumped high into the air to catch him while a raging party was going on in my home and the hamster was being used as a football and I tried to save him, comfort him, but I couldn't.  Oh my goodness...I CANNOT try to save another "being" in my world.  If this is any indication...I am, for the record, declaring I will NOT do therapy for a hamster, I will not drive it to appointments, and for goodness sake, please Lord, do not allow that rodent to enter my dreams! Who knew?

3.21 World Down Syndrome Day

I don't frequent this little hobby of mine much....my fingers have better things to do most days than click a keyboard.  Sometimes I'm drawn to a screen to work my heart out on some therapeutic level, but today...I can't miss 3.21.  Today I use this screen as a

way to slap you aside the head and stand alert, not just today but for decades.  If not for the world, then at least for Carter because you fell in love three years ago, which means you get to know 3.21.

3.21 is World Down Syndrome Day.  3 copies of chromosome 21.  I remember our geneticist showing me three copies on paper, I remember praising God for 3 copies of 21 instead of 18.  I had no idea what a stinking chromosome was and thought it incredulous that just an extra one could change an entire future...mine and his.  That was at a time where I couldn't even spell it right, Down syndrome.  I would spell it as Down's Syndrome, or say Downs, etc...didn't have a clue, but my mind held a lot of silent fears that took YEARS to work through.  This year was the first time I could bring myself to a function where a ton of adults with Down syndrome would be...I couldn't see them easily before this year.  Their similarities played into my fears like a well tuned orchestra, so I'd stay at the functions that held mostly toddlers (that took me a good year before I declared it fun).  Down syndrome is a label I fit comfortably with now.  It doesn't terrorize me anymore, there are aspects of it that scare the living daylights out of me i.e. the 50% higher chance of luekemia, the dementia, the early deaths, the things researchers are working like mad to find a cure for.  But the daily stares in every store we attend, they roll off my back now, the massive unknowns about his future, OUR future those are a thing in the past, now we plan, now we pray, now we look at our Carter and just live.

But today, what is Down syndrome to you?
~perhaps when you think of Ds, you envision Carter because you've met him here on a screen.  Perhaps you've fallen in love with his triumphs and you've memorized his pictures and you occasionally check in to see how his life is doing.

~perhaps when you think of Ds, you immediately go to the little yellow bus, you know the one.  You are pulling your eyes away from that group of young adults out on their "shopping day" at Target.  You want to stare, yet you don't want to.  Extremely awkward.

~perhaps when you think of Ds you breathe a sigh of relief because you managed to have your children and they are all healthy and God is so good.

~perhaps when you think of Ds you whisper, "I could never do that"

~perhaps when you think of Ds you think about chubby fingers dipping chicken nuggets into ketchup, or watching the boys slide down the slide together, or the times we've told the kiddos to share and play together...because we are living life together and you see Carter as Carter and somehow you've allowed us to live normal with you and you've said hello to Ds, you have gotten to know it, you inquire, and your family has accepted and simply lives around us.

~perhaps when you think of Ds you recall that childhood neighbor down the street that was tagging along in the distant and now allows you to be able to tell me "I had a neighbor once with Ds."

~perhaps when you think of Ds you are heaving sobs as you stare at an ultra sounds screen and are introduced to what are called soft markers and a little amnio leaves your world spinning out of control.

~perhaps when you think of spending your entire life holding that hand of someone who has Ds, perhaps you choose to join the other 90% of people who abort, who terminate, who miss out.

~perhaps when you think of Ds you are staring into the almond slanted eyes who stare back at you and call you mama.  Perhaps you manage the guilt of quiet fears and the moments where your heart will explode when the tiniest of tinies have been conquered.

~perhaps when you think of Ds the bagger at the grocery store comes to mind.  And you're a bit more patient with him because he tries a bit harder than the rest.

~perhaps when you think of Ds you are reminded of that one person you saw last week with Ds and you want to let me know of all the amazing thing that person has been able to do as an adult...

We all have our perceptions of Down syndrome.  When I was younger I was the one who never ever wanted to be touched by a disability.  Seeing those groups of people on those daily field trips gave me the creeps and I was certain I wasn't cut out to ever work with special needs.  Infact, I only took one special ed class in college.  Not. For. Me.  Now today, I tuck those special needs into bed each night, those needs have wrapped their fingers around my heart so tightly that I honestly believe my heart might just stop beating because it loves too much.

Down syndrome doesn't scare me.  I have far great diagnosis in my family that keeps me up at night suffocating me, but Down syndrome? Nope.  What do I want you to know on this 3.21?

Whatever category you fall into, know that Down syndrome isn't a sentence handed down, don't feel sorry for us.  I want you to know that people with Down syndrome live full lives, go to college, get married, some drive, hold jobs, and are happy, very very happy.  Down syndrome doesn't bother them, it doesn't bother their families.  It is hard, but isn't parenting hard for all of us?

What can you do on this 3.21? You are the mommy of that little boy who will sit by Carter the first day of kindergarten, open his eyes to different and his heart to acceptance, maybe you are the parent of that junior higher who stares and doesn't know what to do about that awkward red head and has the choice to ruin his day or make him soar..raise him to inquire and to understand that God looks at the heart.  Maybe you're Carter's employer, soften your heart, find ways to include, to employ.  Perhaps you are the church, walk along side us...hold hands and teach Jesus well, make Ds part of your community.  Maybe your son will be the one who drives mine to the prom with his girl, thank him for not seeing a diagnosis.  Maybe you're on that school board and what you decide really does matter, think it thru and consider all the people affected by your vote.  Maybe you're the t-ball coach who has never had a kid with a disability on your team and you're wondering why this family isn't over at the special olympics league.  Slow down, ask questions, perhaps be patient and maybe learn a bit from some needs, allow the team to learn and grow through the season.  And maybe, just maybe, it's your child who will become Carter's very best friend, it is your child I've prayed for since day one and to you I say thank you.

~

Beach is calling me

Growing up I never adored the beach, I was miserably scared a shark would take a taste of my leg if I waded too far and building sand castles was fun for a few minutes until I realized I'd never make a great one and they all seemed to look the same.  As I grew older, the beach became a nice place to read a book, but the wind ruined my hair and unwanted sand found their eternal home into the crevices of my car...the beach was something I craved to love, but the reality of it was, I just didn't love it.
Then I brought my daughter to the beach and I fell in love with it, I fell in love with her at the beach.  Somehow the beach offers freedom to a heart that is broken and a mind that is onguard constantly, but when there are waves, sand, and no expectations or demands I am allowed glimpses at what life could be like, I'm allowed moments to see what restoration might look like, all guards are dropped and there is squeeling, laughter that comes from some deep down place...laughter that has been held prisoner and allowed free for a short while...there is uninhibited joy.

Walking our day to day life gets really hard.  I'm not going to lie...I didn't adopt to save the world, to gain a gold star on God's sticker chart...I didn't have this burning calling to be the special needs whisperer, in fact, given the choice I'd have booked it out of there so fast.  I wanted to be normal, to live in a decent home, be a mom, put dinner on the table and wear pearls and pumps while doing it.  I wanted normal.  And all the normal people out there would tell me that there is "no normal", but when you are raising special needs children there is a obvious knowledge that life is so very very different than your neighbor's life, than your best friends' life...you have unrelatable issues.  Yes we all have stresses, yes we all carry burdens, not challenging that, unless you are a mom to multiple needs...you just will have to trust me when I say there are different levels of normal in our eyes.

And somedays, the days where I'm crying in a pile of spilled salt, I crave the sand, I crave the screams of children jumping waves and the water engulfing their knees.  I crave the dang birds grabbing Doritos out of my toddler's hands and I crave catching a glimpse of her freedom.  I almost become panicky and feel frantic to get there, to find it again.  That fleeting moment of joy.  Sometimes I feel like calling an ambulance to get her there fast, just get her to her place.  And she can breathe again.  I need to provide that for my child and I need to see her live free, even for the moment.  Then I can tuck the picture away into the pocket of my heart and savor it for a while and strap my boots on and do this thing called life for a bit longer, until I find myself craving the sand again.

My birthday is this week and I'm giving myself the perfect gift.  I'm taking my three children on a road trip to the beach.  Daddy is staying home for this one, and I'm braving an adventure with my three.  And I'm going to drive as fast as I can to get us to the place my heart is desperately needing right now.  I need a new picture to tuck away, I need to get my daughter the oxygen she is gasping for and I need to watch her suck it in gulps and I will sit in the sand and allow the laughter to heal my heart's wounds and I will marvel at the power of the beach.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made...this I know

Psalm 139: 13-14 has always been my favorite verse...way before I understood the depths of it and the confusing challenges of the verse when I look at my own children.  Today, this verse is displayed as the focal point in my daughters room.  My daughter who I pray will hold onto the One who was with her from the beginning when I wasn't.  I want the words "fearfully and beautifully made" to be engrained so deeply that when she doubts, when she is angered at what has been done to her while being "made" she will also rest in this foundation.  That there has been no surprises and that her creation was whispered beautifully and wonderfully into place and that is just such a massive deal to cling to.

And when my red headed one who draws glances everywhere he goes because he stands out a bit, almond slants, a little nose, perhaps his thicker neck...different.  And when he utters his sentences, or his tongue sweeps out a bit across his chin to catch that stubborn drool...I want him to know   "Fearfully, wonderfully made."  And when the bullies come and when the awkward moments with friends arrive, I want my oldest and my middle to have engrained deeply into their core...that he is fearfully, wonderfully, made...in the image of God Himself.  I want that verse to fuel them to stand tall with confidence and determination and with sheltering arms of protection.

This video is powerful, the absolute truth is foundation and so very real to my family as we walk each day.

Salt

I just finished bathing one child and found out Carter had dumped a whole thing of salt onto my just vacuumed and mopped floor.  I literally feel like crumbling on the floor and crying until I'm good and grey.  While I'm trying to teach my 3 year old how to stay sitting in time out WITHOUT getting salt stuck to the bottom of all our feet (the feeling of salt on my feet makes me cringe, yes I have issues), dealing with a wet McKenzie, dinner going, remnants of homework trauma still in my brain, I find myself crying over salt.  I am pondering this, because it is the minor spills that make me lose my mind, that make me want to declare "That's it, I'm finished, I gave it a good go and I've decided to surrender and quit."  I tend to have massive melt downs over tiny spills, leaving my husband and those who happen to be in my way at the time baffled and thinking I'm a loon.  But if I slow down, and really think, it becomes painfully clear I'm not crying over sticking salt on my calloused toes...I'm crying because I've held so much more in and the spill was all it took to leave me undone.  Too many weeks of working my tail off through therapy homework, too many doctor visits, too many counseling sessions, too many times meeting friends or just normal people and trying to fit in, trying to feel as though I'm living normal, but the reality is my life is so unrelatable to those I try to fit in with.  Pondering will remind me of an entire 48 hour period where Carter stopped walking last week, diving us into tests, blood work, the crappy Luekemia phrase that reminds me the painfully crappy parts of Down syndrome, decided whether I should enroll in various Down syndrome workshops while I battle myself with the thoughts "but I don't need that clinic, he doesn't need that workshop" when my reality screams "He has down syndrome and you can't determine to be the one mother in the universe that can parent it out of him!" and then there is a slew of anguish mixed with new determination that has to battle within for a few days until I surrender and just stick on Doc McStuffin and drool for a while in a corner.  I remember I was greeted this morning with a raging child before I could even say hello.  And the crazy reality that I'm in counseling with my child, trying to help my child re-write history trying to give her a new memory, trying to erase the deep mourning  of 9 months where I couldn't be there and the one who was there... damaged so intensely, and convincing I never left her once when she was sick while her brain tells her otherwise leaving her heart heaving with pain that I cannot relate to, learning techniques that my "realm" of friends don't even know exists, trying to make new connection in her neurons and begging God like crazy that He decides to heal her....all while chasing my toddler while he is trying to leave the counselor's office because I couldn't get a babysitter and why not throw a toddler into an in depth counseling session, let the counselor see just how loony a mom can get.  And the spilled salt reminds me of the hour IEP meeting I had while the sun was coming up this morning, trying to discern what is best educationally for my child who happens to NOT have Ds, and then I think the salt allows me to have a huge pity party when I contemplate that mom's are driving their kids to practices, lessons, "living" in their car and I'm driving to counseling, therapies, meetings, echocardiograms, dr. appointments, and the occassional lesson just screaming to fit into a world that I don't fit into.  And I'm just a really, really tired mom in a pile of salt.  Not a go to bed and fix it tired, an aching that goes so deep that I couldn't even begin to decipher where the hurt is, leaving my heart just tired.

This isn't unusual, I'm quite certain I'm fairly normal crying in a pile of salt, well  by now the salt is a scattering of tiny little balls that will never ever go away.  Sometimes I just need to have a good ol cry, recognize that my life is incredibly odd, and have my husband validate it for me, and then I'll stand up, vacuum the entire house and finish dinner, and begin again tomorrow.  And by the end of this night, I will do the work that is needed to know that I know that I know that God is good, and I will know I am exactly where I need to be and by tonight, the salt will be gone.

Who will be there?

I admit, I fall into a panic mind set sometimes when I consider Carter's future and I look at my own children.  Due to various diagnosis that run deep in my family, I'm painfully aware that one of Carter's siblings may not be able to care for him one day, or may not be that "buddy" that parents talk about for their child with Ds.  And when I dwell on it and decide to take things into my own hands instead of resting in the Saviors who actually created Carter and has his future taken care of, I panic.  I hop on the "what if" bandwagon and I allow the wagon to spiral downhill until it crashes, leaving me a mess of crazy.

And then I get a teensy weensy glimpse of something that sort of looks like this.....

and this..."Here Carter, take our hand, we'll hike with you"

What to say

I've ignored this little hobby of mine, I just don't have much to say.  Like for reals, when they took all my "stuff" during my hysterectomy, I think they took every pinch of creativity and most of my emotions.  I have chosen not to do hormone replacement therapy (yes, you can laugh at what our life must look like now...just don't laugh in front of my husband, I'm sure he doesn't find the new me funny!) just because the huge C word scares the BGBS out of me, and because hot flashes are utterly cool.  Since my hormones up and left, I'm afraid I've been left a bit apathetic, there isn't much "ahhhhh" moments inside me anymore...heck,  it's almost like I'm becoming a man...gasp!  Do you want to know a little secret? My voice has even changed, it is much lower and I used to be able to actually sing pretty decent, and now...not so much.  Who knew hormones fueled my pipes? I wasn't planning on being a star singer one day, so I'm okay with my new "sexy" voice.

Last night, I was moved.  Kirk and Zac were doing their hour round of let's fix your math homework, but I did it right dad, no you didn't son, fiasco so I opted to be the one to tuck Carter in (usually daddy does that).  So, I read "Goodnight Moon" oodles of times and let him "read" it back to me.  We sang our share of songs, prayed, and then I told him goodnight.  He wrapped his chubby arms around my neck and pulled me into his bed, near him.  He didn't talk, but he told me "stay".

I told him "I love you", he gently stroked his fingers ever so lightly on my cheek and whispered "Mama.  He didn't talk, but he told me "I love you too mama."

His little lip curled under as I started to leave, his eyes searched his bed.  "Mama," and then the signed "please".  I handed him his bear, he said "Yep" and laid on his side with his bear tucked in it's proper place.  He didn't talk, but he told me "I need my bear before you leave mama".

Carter doesn't talk all day long, but he tells me everything all day long.  It is really moving to think of how deeply communication occurs when one can't speak.  How communication is more "felt" than talked, how in tune we need to be with each other in order to make him feel safe, feel secure, feel like I'll come if he utters a sound, and I'll watch, looking for all the markers his body makes in order to communicate.  And I'll get it, almost everytime because I know him deeply, and he knows nothing else.  It is remarkable.  As much as I pray that he will speak well, and learn it all quickly, there is something amazing at communicating with no words.  Of course there are oodles of times where I beg for speech, when he is hurting or sick and I cannot figure out what or where or what to do, the time I feel I'm letting him down as he looks at me with every ounce of confidence that I'll help, but my entire being knows nothing of what to do...those times make me ache deep.  But there are those strokes on my cheek, that speak from a heart who loves deeply with lips that remain still, but love is spoken anyhow.

He is talking!

I just had to share a little clip of Carter talking.  To some of you, you won't be able to hear what he is saying, "I want ball please" and then a correct "Go" with the correct Ga sound.  Carter learns to speak through touch cues, basically touching different parts of his mouth/face to trigger and make him aware that the sound needs to come from that area.  Seriously, they should write a book about him because 1 in 5 kids really respond to touch cues, and my child is talking up a storm because of them.  He actually, will put his stuffed animals in a row, sit down...touch their mouths in a touch cue, they will "Say" the wanted word and he will cheer for them.  Some kids play school with their babies, my kid plays therapy! It is the most beautiful thing I could catch my son doing!  It's what keeps me diligent in therapy homework, keeps me raising his bar!

His annunciation isn't great obviously, but do you know what this simple sentence tells me? He can make a sentence with almost no prompting, he can motor plan, he can sit for one hour and keep talking out of a therapists expecting him too, he talks far greater than we ever dared hope at this age, and that he will indeed speak well one day (Not all people with Down Syndrome speak, and often they don't speak clearly).

So,...my proud mama moment:

Behind the Magic

During Carter's nap time I've been watching Hallmark Christmas movies streamed through You Tube while I plug away on the treadmill.  I like getting caught up in the magic shown through a screen.  You know what I'm talking about.  That fire that glows and nobody seems to think the toddler might fall into the fire place, the egg nog, the gathering around the tree with hairs all in place, a meal fit for a king with no dish in sight...you get it.

I can do a pretty good job typing magic on my keyboard, hitting publish and wallaaaaaah you all think my life is magical and this Christmas season just well planned out gushing with glitter sprinkles and confetti properly placed.  So, I thought I'd show you the "Behind the Magic", that Hallmark fails to show.

Two Dozen Cookies made by pudgy fingers shaking sprinkles with glee:  BEHIND THE MAGIC: One mom starting to twitch when each freakin sprinkle sticks to her feet, trying not to yap at her husband to help and wiping snot from the toddler as he sneezes into his cookies...making mental notes not to eat his share.

The oldest placing the grand finale on top of the tree, the brilliant star, cue music: BEHIND THE MAGIC: One mom asking who's turn it is to place the star up, each kid saying it was the other's turn because neither wants to do it, "Can't Dad just do it?"...No, now get up there and smile!

Christmas Advent Countdown Activities: BEHIND THE MAGIC:Here kids, let's open three bags today because I forgot the other days.

Matching Christmas Jammies, sleeping under the Christmas tree: BEHIND THE MAGIC: A slew of chaos, way too many stuffed animals and blankets, a three year old crazed with overwhelming excitement, one kid begging to sleep in their own bed alone.


Walking through the Nativity each night, all of us on the couch, reading, embracing the fact that the Bible whispers a Savior with each page: BEHIND THE MAGIC: Mommy frantically looking at the clock while tooth paste gets plastered on teeth and footed jammies and inched up over still damp chubby legs...mommy thinking "Oh crap, we don't have time to read tonight, but I have to, my goodness I'm tired, is the day almost over??" "Yes, that's right kids, let's sit down and read our Bible, it doesn't matter how late we are, we always make time for this."

Daddy caught Mommy under the mistle toe, leaving a 8 year old girl giggling with anticipation: BEHIND THE MAGIC: Mommy utters to daddy, "I'm sick, you really don't want to kiss me." Daddy whispers "That's okay, come here" Mommy says "No way, I can't afford for you to get sick next week...back off"  8 year old girl says "Are you fighting" ho hum.

Our Christmas Elf is zip lining through the entire kitchen: BEHIND THE MAGIC: Mommy is blank staring at Facebook and sees all these Wonder Moms living soley to make this crazy Elf become their kids' greatest source of glee each day.  Mommy has a sit down with Daddy, starts to declare the panic word and says "I just can't do everything here, you're taking over the Elf".  Mommy ushers daddy and introduces him to a thing called Pinterest, searches "Elf" tells him to enjoy and she shrinks off to bed.

A Christmas book for each day of December lines the shelf.  A collection started long before diapers and spit up entered our world.  We were ready for this tradition: BEHIND THE MAGIC: Two hours of homework, piano practice, chores, dinner, bath...who has time to read something MORE at night?

A family of 5 snuggled up on the couch with buttered fingers diving into popcorn as we listen to Linus declare the real meaning of Christmas: BEHIND THE MAGIC: A mom sitting on the couch with an aching back and restless legs, knowing that once the movie ends and she gets all the kids to bed, there is a kitchen full of buttered bowls, popped corn to clean and blankets to haul back to beds.

Getting together with Family to celebrate, giving gifts to each other, laughing, just being...perhaps in the glow of a fire. BEHIND THE MAGIC: Women coordinating calendars, moving events around in order to find an evening where ALL families can come together to celebrate.  Phone calls made, meal ideas played back and forth, lists made, lost, made again, repeat.  Groceries needing to be purchased with a budget that is far stretched because you just couldn't stay within the gift budget this year.

A husband and wife living a tradition of watching their annual Christmas movie while wrapping gifts while little ones are snug in their bed. BEHIND THE MAGIC: Mom searching amazon for a good deal on wrapping paper, banking on Amazon Prime getting it to her door...oh don't forget to order the tape too.

Hearing your son play Christmas Music for Grandparents on his guitar, a perfect bow on the package of Christmas yumminess.  BEHIND THE MAGIC: A mom who has listened to Jingle Bells plucked painfully each day since August.

Children bringing good cheer to a nursing home. BEHIND THE MAGIC: A bazillion emails to coaches explaining that children will be late or absent from games, driving here, driving there, picking up one, dropping off another, where is your choir shirt, no you don't need to be nervous they are kind people sweetie, I don't know if they will have cookies for you but it doesn't matter because you don't like cookies, now get in the car!

Delivering Christmas goodies to your neighbors.  BEHIND THE MAGIC: A pinterest board full of good intentions, failed.

Hot cocoa in hand, cookies packaged for the trip, each kid holding a Christmas light scavenger hunt page...a hunting we will go. BEHIND THE MAGIC: Not one person drinks the hot cocoa because nobody likes it, cookies go untouched because, again, nobody but mom likes those, so mom eats all 5.  Lights are ooh"ed" and ahh"ed" over, but the kids get to bed much too late and the next day three little over tired Christmas monsters walk through life.

A little red head, pointing a chubby finger up to the mistle toe, saying "Toe" then pulling his mommy under it and kissing her right on the lips, then running off.  BEHIND THE MAGIC: A mommy who pleads for her little boy each day and a God who is full of grace...that's the magic.

Sunshine Award

So, apparently, I've been nominated for the Blogging Sunshine award! I've never really played along with the awards sent my way, but it's raining, my 3 year old is glued to the Wiggles, and I'm feeling game!

Thanks to Kristen for the nomination!


Okay, here goes!

1.  What is the best advice someone has given me?

Hmmm, that's tough simply because my memory is in mommy of three young kids mode and I have hardly any recollection of anything important currently.  I do often repeat "Watch it burn"...first uttered to me by The Gottry's long ago in our first Married's Sunday School class.  Basically, everything I have planned for my tomorrows, all the dreams I've told God that perhaps He should be on board with...watch it burn.  When I was told that phrase, I was newly married, a perfect size 8, dreams of 2 blonde headed children and a dog thrown in there somewhere.  I now know the power of watching my dreams burn, allowing my expectations to melt away because my Savior saves, which means He has much different plans for my tiny dreams, bigger ones, more painful ones, but better ones...so I've learned to "Watch it burn."

2.  What is your first childhood memory?

Ooh, this is so incredibly easy...I remember saying to my mom, "When I grow up, I want to be a mom".  I have no idea how old I was, I'm sure I was sporting pig tails though.  Ask me today what my dream job is...I'll say "I'm living it."

3.  If you could choose another time to live, when would it be?

For sure when women wore pearls, and cleaned house, raised children and had a hot dinner on the table when their husband came home.  I already live that life, it would just make it a ton more convenient if all the people around me lived it too.

4.  What's the last book you read and what was it about?

I'm currently in the middle of a good book, but I'll make sure to follow the rules and tell you about the last one I read.  "Letting Go of Perfect" by Amy Spiegel.  The title explains it all and if you've read my blog longer than a sentence, you'll know why I read it!

5. How did you meet your significant other?

Oh this is fun! Okay, so I was head over heels in love with this guy at the time.  My mom came home from a Home Depot run and declared that she had found my future husband and that he looked Canadian (I know, what does a Canadian look like?)  I declared right back at her that I wasn't interested because I had, on my own, found my future husband, blah blah blah.  Fast forward 6 months, the guy I was seeing had been newly named "Satan" in my books and I found myself in a Home Depot, single, with my mom and I curiously asked her to show me this Canadian looking Home Depot Guy.  He wasn't there and I needed to head out to a church function.  So, at the church function, I started talking to this guy who had dark hair and kept talking about his job at Home Depot, and then it struck me that perhaps he DID look Canadian.  Turns out it was my Canadian Looking Home Depot Guy! Anyways, bad thing was I couldn't stand him really...not my type at all.  A few weeks later I was watching him at a party and I heard clearly "You're going to marry him"...like a crazy moment for sure.  But I quickly told that "VOICE", ummm...I'd never marry him! The Canadian came over, asked if I'd like to go out to dinner one night and I was pretty sure I said "No," but then I heard my actual voice responding with "I'd love to."  The rest is history! 

6.  What's the best way to get on my good side? Affirm me.  I crave affirmation, which is such a bummer because I'm constantly reminding myself that it isn't all about me and that I have a Savior that is enough, but reality is...I love affirmation.

7.  What's your favorite thing to do on a Saturday morning? Well, I'd love to sleep in...but I'm three kids short of that happening on a Saturday morning.  So I'll go with my second favorite.  If my husband gets out of bed within the hour or so that I do and we make pan cakes and then linger on the couch with three plastic coffee mugs full of "coffee" sitting on the coffee table, our jammies still on and hair begging for more sleep and we just slow down, sip, and watch the miracle our life has gotten to be part of.  Oh, can I add in a dish fairy that somehow makes all the dried pancake batter disappear, yes, if that comes with a Sunshine Award nomination, I'd gladly accept!

8.  If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be? I only know Arizona, I was born here and only know of 120 degree weather.  But I hear there is this crazy thing called "seasons" and I think Colorado Springs might be the perfect place to try seasons on for a bit.  But I think that a few days of something called wind chill, and bundling up three children and tracking mud all over, I'd be googling tropical beach houses...although the sand in the house might kill me.  I conclude with this thought, I will own a second home and visit it whenever season I want!

9.  What has been your favorite adoption moment so far? This is a tough question, probably because I don't live "adoption" like I once used to years ago.  There are so many God stories that play out in our adoption journeys with both kids, but the one that screams "God is so very real" is this one.  Kirk and I had just come home from a marriage retreat with oodles of friends who all seemed to be very pregnant and we played along with slapped on smiles and performed oscar worthy moments of joy for our friends who seem to never smell the thick smoke that lingers after watching a dream burn.  We were exhausted and we were longing.  I remember Kirk grabbed my hand and pulled me to my knees in our closet and he led us in a quick bold prayer.  "Father, give us a baby right now, or take this sadness away."  Zachary was born the next day.

10.  What would your family pet say if they could talk? There are so many sentences I could choose here, and if you know Kristen, you're giggling under your breath because you realize the whole picture.  I'll just say this...Kirk and I both raised a red flag for an adoption personality testing due to how we answered a pet question...therefore, there is a silent voice croaking outside from our tortoise that we seem to forget we ever decided to keep...he is saying "Run pets, don't choose this house. Ever!"

11. What is the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow? I taught 4th grade for a reason...the brain can only know so much people and mine stops at age 10. period.

So the rules of the Award are to nominate other blogs to play along, but honestly I'm too busy to know oodles of blogs off hand.  Thanks though, it was fun!

A boy and a train